What I Remember
by thatTWWgirl
Summary: Donna's son reflects on the male influence in his life. [Now with companion chapters.]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hi there! I'm thatTWWgirl, and this is just a little fic that sort of crept up on me. **

**Description: Donna's son reflects on the male influence in his life.**

**Reviews: It'd sure be nice :)**

**Disclaimer: These characters are heart-wrenchingly, tragically, soul-shatteringly not mine.**

**I hope you like it!**

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I don't remember much about my father.

You could say that he wasn't a big part of my life. In fact, I lost nearly all contact with him by the time I was in middle school. But honestly? It never really bothered me.

My father wasn't the nicest guy. What I remember of my youth is infrequent visits in which he ruffled my hair and perhaps handed me a baseball or a candy bar; I remember my mother standing taut and tight-lipped behind him, watching carefully. I remember the air of guilt that clung to him like cigarette smoke. You'd get the impression that his guilt was the only reason he came.

I think he considered us something of a burden.

Which is, of course, preposterous.

My mother is, hands-down, the nicest person on the planet. Her smile chases away rain clouds, her hugs knock the wind out of you in the best kind of way, and I don't think a day has gone by that she hasn't put other people's needs in front of her own. And so when I tell you that I think I was a burden to her, know that she would never agree with this statement. She'd swear up and down that I was a blessing in every way, shape, and form, that I was the best thing that ever happened to her and that she loves me more than all the stars in the sky.

But I was a burden to her.

I was, as other kids would frequently tease me once we reached a certain age, an accident. I was never meant to happen. I was bestowed upon my mother at a time when she was working long hours at a demanding job, hardly making ends meet as it was. I was the result of a relationship that ended quickly thereafter. She was in no position to have a child at that stage in her life.

But she did.

My mother is self-sacrificing that way.

The air of youth hung onto my mother as she navigated our lives alone, it drew the unwelcome gazes of men who thought she might just be the nanny, it elicited disdainful scowls from the other mothers in their tight-knit group.

None of this phased her; at least, she'd never let me see that it did. She was brave, and determined, and too damn busy to be bothered with the judgement of others.

I don't remember my father much. But I know that my mother loathed him.

She loathed him for robbing her of the life she never got to live, the life she should've been living. As women her age went clubbing, she sprinted from work to daycare and back again, hardly a moment of thought to spare for her own sake. She loathed him for not making the same sacrifices. She loathed him for his success; and yet, she wouldn't take a dime of his money.

She didn't want to need him, so she didn't. My mother is a force of nature that way.

He was older than she was. I remember one birthday, he crouched beside my tiny form, his hands on my shoulders as he told me that I was becoming quite the man. I had no earthly idea what he was talking about; I was becoming no such thing.

He wore a nice suit. I remember that. He always did. I doubt his job demanded it, and the only thing it seemed to do for him was flaunt his success.

He didn't really play with me; though I doubt this can be attributed entirely to his age. I'll tell you, my youthful, beautiful mother played with me relentlessly. Even after her longest work day, we'd play tag in her tiny apartment and laugh or do toys for which she made the sound effects, and on weekends she'd take me to the park and prove that "throwing like a girl" was in no way an insult.

He never played with me. But I don't think I ever asked him to.

He was uncomfortable around us, to say the least. He tried in vain to make small talk with my mother, a half-hearted smirk on his face as he made bad jokes. She met him with nothing but frigidity.

I don't remember much about my father. Or, as I've affectionately termed him, my "birth father". Not my real father. Just the one who threw DNA into my mother and left her to deal with the consequences.

A far better man than he tells me not to worry about it. That it's not me, the reason my father is never around. It's him. _It's all him._ You have no idea how long it took me to believe that.

This man holds back thinly veiled contempt for my father, even as a toddler I could sense it. As my mother stood taut and thin-lipped behind my father, more often than not he was beside her, arms crossed and jaw set. I could see the hatred in his eyes.

This man was there a lot more often than my father was. In fact, he was in my life and around my mother so often that I think he's in a couple of refrigerator drawings. I don't know, you'd have to ask mom.

He's been there as long as I can remember. It may sound like a sad life for a child, but believe me when I tell you that growing up in my mother's office really wasn't half bad. My mother never hired a nanny; she will tell you that this is because she didn't want someone else to raise her child. I think a part of it was that all those long hours still wouldn't pay for one.

But like I said, it wasn't that bad. My earliest months were spent in a crib in a cubicle, or so I've been told, and from then on, I was toddling around the building like I belonged there. After all, with my mother's crazy hours, day care only stretched half the work day. It was with trepidation and embarrassment that she attempted to keep me in one place, telling me to be quiet and not bother anyone, "these people are very important". The very important people, however, didn't seem to mind me one bit.

He was fun to watch. I've been told that some people find his madness a little intimidating, especially those guys "who lived in a hill, like elves!" as my mother would explain to me; however, I grew up on his craze. He would practically run through the building, shouting and breaking things and trying (mostly successfully) not to trip on me. The words he exchanged with my mother were rapid-fire and impossible to follow, but as a little kid they delighted me to no end. He delighted me to no end.

The others fawned over me as well, a gentler man oftentimes taking me into another part of the building to sit on his knee as he spoke to the scary guy with a beard. Even he would give me a smile on occasion.

The tall lady ("Peter, for the millionth time, don't call her that!") was good fun too, taking me for walks and letting me answer her phone. As I'd later learn, I was very accomplished at sidetracking reporters all over the country.

But he was my favorite. Whether bellowing my mother's name, using language that made her cover my ears and scold him, or dangling me by one ankle as I laughed like a gremlin ("Put him _down_!"), he was the best friend a kid could hope for. He taught me how to play baseball with those balls my father gave me, so that I'd quit glaring at them. He made my mother smile like no one else could.

I remember him quite well.

I remember that when nights at the office stretched too long, he'd come home with us. Maybe they worked for a while, but what's most vivid to me is the three of us eating pizza, and then retiring to the living room to watch whatever I picked. That is, until I fell asleep, and they put on something that wasn't animated. I remember the way he held my mother.

I remember him picking me up from preschool one day, how I'd been inexplicably proud. _Guys, look! That's him. He's here for me! _He's here for me.

I remember that he used to give me money. Not large sums of it, just enough to buy an ice cream or the new toy I'd been begging my mother for. He'd slip it to me with a conspiratorial smile, a "don't tell your mom", and at the time I'd wondered why he wanted to hide how nice he was.

I remember a night that my mother wore red, and I'd sat on his desk for a while, between him and another suited man, coloring absently. He'd spoken sharply to her before she left.

That happened sometimes.

I remember flowers on her desk, the two of them arguing as I drifted off in Sam's arms. When I woke up on the way out to the car, they were both glowing like traffic lights.

I remember him following her room to room, ranting about "Dr. Freeride" ("You shouldn't let him hang around your kid, Donna, after how he treated you?"). When I'd found out who this nickname was reserved for, I'd started to use it too. The first time, my mother had tried to be angry, but had ended up smiling.

I remember nights that his visits had been late and unplanned, the shouting in the hallways (his), and the hushed voice telling him not to wake Peter (hers). On one such occasion, I was getting too old to sleep through it, so I padded out into the living room. At the sight of him, I ran and jumped into his arms.

After the slightest stagger, he hugged me back. "Hey, little man."

My mother glared at him dangerously. "Put him down."

He did no such thing. He carried me to the sofa, and sat with me on his lap. He gazed up at her earnestly, softly tousling my hair. I could hear his slow breath.

"He could be mine, ya know."

That made her falter. Her brow furrowed. "He... What?"

"Both of you. You could both be mine."

And it was then that she'd told him that this could wait until morning, and I was carted off to bed. He slept on the couch, and by the time we left for school, they'd been smiling over coffee.

I guess they had talked about it that morning, because soon enough, he was there every night. There was little talk of work during these times, and the visits weren't wildly late at night, either.

My mother's hours shortened considerably, then.

The first time I saw them kiss, it was utterly natural. I mean, I covered my eyes in disgust, of course, but it was a mere reflex of age. I turned away in the same way every little boy turns from his parents' affection. They looked happy.

The kisses increased in frequency, as did hand-holding, lingering touches, that constant contact of the deeply in love.

There were nights that they'd go out by themselves, and I knew it wasn't to work late because they would've brought me with them. And it wasn't a special event, because either Sam or Tall Lady watched me, and they're pretty important. Sometimes, I'd even spend the night.

I didn't mind any of this, the affection, the nights with my adult pals, any of it. So long as he kept being around us so often. So long as my mother continued to look happier than I'd ever seen her before.

She did.

We moved shortly thereafter. I didn't think of it as "moving in with him", because in my mind, he'd already lived with us. We were all moving into this bigger and vaguely familiar place, together.

I made drawings for a different refrigerator. We ate dinner at a different table; or rather, we started eating dinner at a table. Like other families. They cooked and kissed and laughed in a different kitchen. We watched movies on a different, bigger TV. They held each other on a different sofa. After a nightmare, I'd crawl into a bigger bed and flop down on top of their tangled forms, and soon I'd be nice and tangled too.

It was home.

I remember that on one of our "men only" outings, he'd turned to me almost tentatively. With an offhanded shrug, he'd mentioned that I could call him Dad, if I wanted.

I did. Soon enough, I'd forgotten that I ever called him anything else.

I remember plenty about my dad.

The wedding was huge, filled with a bunch of people I'd never met before; and yet, so many of them cried "look how tall you've gotten!". I was the ring bearer, and may I just say: I did a _phenomenal_ job. There's news camera footage that attests to it.

To this day, I'm overwhelmed with a feeling of love and respect for my mother when I remember her polite refusal of his last name, "because then who would share Peter's?"

I was furious that after the great ordeal it'd been to go that long in an itchy suit ("Real men wear bow ties, Peter" - "They just don't know how to tie them, apparently"), they were thanking me by going on a ten day vacation, without me. I was mollified by the knowledge that I'd be spending this time with Tall Lady; it was all one big party.

My parents returned and life went on. I still did my homework in the office after school (I was starting elementary now, may it be noted), I still listened to dad shout and mom laugh, though they had offices in different parts of the building now. Dad was on the road a lot for a few months there, before and after the wedding, and occasionally mom and I would go too. Each return was a joyous one, and he'd hug us like it'd been years.

There was a big party a couple months later, and I danced with a woman who, at the time, was just another friend of mine. I didn't understand why it was such a big deal, but it was cool that our picture was in the paper. Her husband was supposedly pretty important too, but to me he'd just been a good sort of grandfather, with warm hugs and hidden candy and the coolest carpet in his office.

As I grew older, I learned more of the significance of these people I saw every day, my adopted family, of even my own parents' importance. But they'd been heroes before any of that, so it hardly changed anything.

It's one day, not long after my sixth birthday, that they tell me we've got something important to talk about. I fidgeted with the new Avengers set I'd gotten, not really listening, until I caught the word "brother". I looked up at them, wide eyed, and they looked back with anticipant smiles.

They knelt beside me, explaining to me that mom is going to have another baby, just like she had me, and yes, that's why her stomach's been getting bigger. It would be a few more months, and then I'd have a little brother, and won't that be great?

But by then I could hardly hear them, could hardly breathe, and I ran out of the house and out into the street before either of them could stop me. I heard them shout my name, I heard dad say that he'd go, that she shouldn't get up.

He found me on the sidewalk, running up behind me and scooping me into his arms. He carried me a little further down to a bench, and I attempted to beat him up the whole way there; unfortunately for me, there was a bit of a size disadvantage. Just like in his hugs, I was engulfed in big shoulders and arms and he just held me tightly as I beat my small fists against his chest. He sat us both down.

"Peter."

"Gahg!" I think a punch landed on his jaw, because he grabbed my hand.

"Peter, quit hitting me."

"Why!"

"I'll answer your question with one of my own."

He knew that I liked this. The exchange, the trade.

"What?"

"Why'd you run out of the house, kiddo?"

I don't answer, but bury my head in his neck in utter despair.

"Don't you want a little brother?"

"No!"

"Why not?"

"He'll be yours!"

"He... What?"

I began to writhe once more with anguish, trying to convey my muddled thoughts. "He's yours, and you'll like him! You and mom. He'll be yours. He'll look like you, and he'll be yours, and you'll like him better than me, cuz I'm not!"

We sat in silence for a long time, and I cried softly into his shirt.

"Of course you're mine, Peter."

"But Dr. Freeride-"

"Your father doesn't mean anything to me. Other than that he's half of what made such a great kid like you, of course. You know I don't love you any less, Peter. You're mine and nothing else matters."

"But I'm not... We aren't re... rel..."

"Related?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, that's probably for the best. I am pretty lousy, you wouldn't want to be anything like _me_."

And that made me laugh. "Yuh-huh."

"We're family, okay? You're my son. And the fact that you're related to Dr. Freeride doesn't change that. I love you."

"I love you too, dad."

And that made him smile, and he gathered me up and headed to somewhere where we could buy a donut or something, calling mom on the way to tell her that we're okay.

Soon, I was excited by the prospect of a brother, and when I finally got to meet him, dad's guiding hand on my shoulder as I walked into the hospital room, I was utterly in awe.

He was so small.

I loved Noah immediately, and it was never an issue that we shared only one biological parent. I never thought of us as half-brothers, and that's never what we called each other. He was my little brother. Plain and simple.

On occasion, I'd find myself growing jealous of the way my adult pals, the people who'd raised me in earnest, fawned over him now. Particularly the way they told dad "he looks just like you!"

As he grew into something discernible, I envied the dimples, the brown curls. I told myself that I just looked more like my mother, pretended that our lineage was the same. I had her hair, her eyes. But there were certain things I couldn't explain away. I had nobody's square jaw, nobody's freckles; at least, nobody as far as I was concerned. I liked to think I had dad's nose. I didn't.

As much as I'd feared my parents playing favorites, they didn't. I remember nights of my mother battling Noah with puréed carrots, of dad sitting at the table with me and growing increasingly agitated as he attempted to help with my first grade social studies homework ("These aren't the basics, Donna! They're lies! Public school is brainwashing America's youth!")

I remember his borderline-over-the-top enthusiasm for my baseball "career", his pride in my good grades and rapidly expanding vocabulary.

Once, I'd been talking to my mother about why my allowance shouldn't be spent on nice things when other people didn't even have _food_, when she stopped what she was doing and looked down at me with the warmest smile. "You're just like him."

I felt a flash of indignation until I realized who she was talking about. I held my chin a little higher after that.

I remember how mom had always affectionately called us "her boys", all three of us. She still does.

There was one time that we'd all gotten sick at once, and she'd tended to us diligently, complaining to dad all the while that he was a "grown man" and acting like a baby. Take note of where I put the quotation marks. We made up for it the next week, however, when she caught the same bug. Dad hovered over her like the sweet, paranoid soul he is, and though I think we tried to help, we mostly just ended up watching movies with her.

I remember a day in the spring, when we were all out at that summer camp like place that my parents and their pals went to sometimes. Dad was in meetings most of the time, and mom was in a few, but we'd managed to get away and go walking for a little while.

Midway through our hike, Noah's two year old enthusiasm had faded and he required carrying; I scorned his babyish inferiority. By the end of the trail, however, I too was heavy on my feet, and Dad ended up struggling back with a boy over each shoulder. When mom had started laughing at him, he'd plopped us both back down and hoisted her up instead, a feat that seemed both miraculous and hilarious to us boys, especially as she yelled at him, trying and failing not to laugh. Noah and I each stole one of her shoes, and ran all the way back to the clearing where Tall Lady was sitting with Grandma Abbey. Laughing hysterically, they'd called their friends with the cameras over just in time for my parents to emerge from the woods.

Dad often complained that the administration took advantage of his "incredibly photogenic" family to create empathy for politicians, but I don't think he really minded. All of the pictures ended up on his desk.

The time came again for my parents to travel, and often we'd go with them, doing our homework on buses and playing tag with the tan children of the incredibly tall guy. Of course, at this point, I knew all about what this meant. That this man was a candidate for President. That my parents were making that happen. I tried to explain all this to Noah, being the older and wiser of us two, but I think all he got from it was the tall guy and his tan children and that "Daddy and I are very, very busy right now."

There was vast celebration and vast sadness that fall, and I'd never seen dad so broken as he'd been when Grandpa Leo died. He held very tightly to my mother most days, and it took a little while for him to laugh like normal again. Mom explained it to me with tears in her eyes; I wasn't the only one of us with a father I wasn't related to.

But things got better, and life went on. I spent my biggest stages of development in this administration, the one with my dad's office right next to the Oval, the one with mom's boss being another famous, beautiful blonde woman. In my opinion, though, she still couldn't hold a candle to my mother.

Noah, changing from toddler to child, began to spout off inane trivia, like mom. Dad and I smiled and rolled our eyes at each other. I had mom's build, slim and agile, whereas Noah was stocky, but he sure had her mind. Their dorky neurosis was altogether endearing.

I began to have more intellectual conversations with my parents as I grew older, trying not to take on dad's opinions for once, and he relished my criticism. He relished debate. My mother's input was practically indisputable, all statistics and humanity and but-you-haven't-thought-about-it-like-this, and I grew to understand how she'd kept him in check all those years. My voice swung between the two of them until it finally found a place of its own at the dinner table.

Reelection came and went, practically soaring by with the pitiful candidate the GOP had scraped up that year. Yeah, I was pretty informed on all that stuff by then. In my house, you had to be.

We grew. We changed. Noah became a pretty cool kid brother, even if he was dorky and far too charming. I liked being someone else's hero, after having so many of my own.

As adolescence hit me full on toward the end of that second term, I started to grow restless and agitated with my whip-smart parents and their unwavering passion. As someone who was trying to find my way in the world, the consistency of their harried idealism was almost irritating.

I turned sixteen, and dad didn't leave to campaign. He stayed with his guy, and we fought over the election that was happening in the meantime. When the party lost, my parents remained on as voices of the opposition. I think that only increased their fervor.

Dad and I began to fight in earnest. I acted out. I disobeyed. I disrespected. All the normal firstborn-coming-of-age things. Our loud male voices would disturb the whole house late into the night, and even my mother could only rarely solve our disputes. Noah, always mischievous, had become the good son.

I remember one fight, the worst one by far. God help me if I can remember what it was about. I yelled, he yelled back, it went on for hours. Eventually, he told me to do something. To go to my room, probably. I'd refused. He pointed out that he was my father, and I did what he told me to do. And in that moment, that spiteful split second, I'd yelled it: "_You're not my real father."_

And it'd sat there in the heaviest silence of my life, and I'll never forget the look on his face. On my mother's face. He left the house for a while, walking out the door without so much as looking at me, grabbing his keys on the way.

I sat up with my mother for a long time, talking softly and waiting for him to return. When I heard the door open, I stood stiffly in the kitchen. As he rounded the doorway, we looked at each other for a moment, silent. And then I hugged him.

I hugged him for a long time, my wiry arms tight around his neck, and I was crying for the first time in years. I was taller than him now, by about an inch, but I still felt like the six year old he'd chased down in the street and assured of his love.

We didn't fight much after that.

I remember bringing home my first girlfriend for dinner, the way dad and Noah had smirked at each other all night. Mom had whacked them both several times for muttered comments.

I remember how she'd stared in awe at my parents across the table, having been regaled with the tale of their history a week or two ago, as I was a lovesick teenager who'd wanted to share everything with her.

She'd smiled indulgently at my father, blurting "I think it's so sweet, the way you just adopted someone else's family."

Oh god. _Someone else's family. _She didn't understand.

I could see mom and Noah's eyes widen in alarm, but my father just gazed back amiably. "More like _they_ adopted _me_, really."

And my mother had grabbed his hand, and Noah spouted off something random to change the subject, and the whole affair was really only mildly excruciating. The girlfriend didn't last too long.

My father likes to think that he's taught Noah and I everything there is to know in the way of women.

_"I'm not sure if you all know this, but I'm incredibly charming."_

_"Ha, ha. To the Lyman hoes, maybe." _

_"Mom, what are hoes?" _

_"Garden tools, sweetie."_

_"Seeing as you married me, don't you think that's a little hypocritical?"_

_"Why does dad have hoes?"_

_"Hypocritical? What are you talking about?"_

_"I'm just saying..."_

_"Are you implying...?"_

_"You're a Lyman hoe."_

_"You are so lucky that you're cute."_

Now, I won't say that he's wrong. About the teaching us part, I mean, not the charming thing. Though, there are a number of women - Never mind.

I remember a lot about what he taught us.

I remember him kissing mom spontaneously, arguing good naturedly with her about nothing, making her laugh. I remember celebrating the most trivial anniversaries, my parents waltzing in our living room, the way he always brought her coffee, and always complained about it. I remember teasing and talking, I remember declarations of love over briefing memos, I remember the embarrassing moment when a friend came over to the house and realized that, yes, my parents were making out in the kitchen, they forget sometimes that other people exist. I remember the way he treated her like she was the only woman in the world.

His eyes still light up when she walks in the room.

I knew that having grown up with it, I would spend my life searching for a love like that; the two of them set the bar high.

I remember that the day I went off to college, it surprised me that he cried right along with my mother. At the same time, it didn't.

I remember that when I brought home my first republican girl, he'd muttered "just like your mother", and earned a thump on the back of his head.

I remember that Noah's boy-genius-ness wore him thin for a while, and I neglected to comment that he'd learned it all from his father. When he left home for Harvard, dad's empty nest syndrome entailed getting his best friend elected president and presiding as chief of staff one last time.

As he grew thinner and no more mild, his curls graying, as the smile lines around my mother's eyes and mouth multiplied, I remember them making a big show of looking in the mirror together and saying "Yeah. We do look pretty grand-parently. Don't you think, Peter? Don't you think we look like we'd make swell grandparents?"

I remember that my birth father never knew of the bundle of joy my wife and I named Jean ("No, she's most definitely not named after you, Tall Lady. Forgot you even had a name, quite frankly." - "You're worse than your father, you know that?"), I remember that I never thought to tell him.

I remember, not having to look back very far now, that Noah's career in social justice took off like a rocket. I remember that the first time he came to the White House as part of a delegation to argue a bill, dad gave him such a rough time that he nearly switched professions. "I still got it!" He'd whooped as he regaled the tale to us at the next family dinner, and mom had rolled her eyes and patted the glaring young lawyer's hand consolingly.

I remember that retirement didn't suit him in the slightest, so he took on a job as a professor. Mom went to a non-prof. Their love story wore on like the sea on the sand, and each day they only seemed to delight in each other more. After the two of us, the alone time was well deserved.

I remember that he'd been so reluctant, so gentle when he'd told me of Dr. Freeride's death. I'd merely shrugged it off. He'd been dead to me for a long time.

I remember that from age four onward, there was no indecision in my mind as to who I'd speak of when people asked about my father.

I'd like to amend my very first statement.

I remember a lot about my father.

I remember a lot about the man who raised me, who loved me, who loved my mother and my brother. The man that chose us even though we were "damaged goods", who took on the challenge with a smile, who was more than a little damaged himself. The man who taught me life lessons through example; who taught me loyalty, and passion, determination. The man who was smart enough to let my mother teach the rest.

I remember plenty about him.

And he's the only father worth remembering.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I'll just casually post this here... Away from prying eyes ;)**

**The chapters that follow will be companion pieces to my original fic, What I Remember, as I fell head over heels in love with this AU. The chapters may jump around in time, I'm not sure yet. I'd written a fair bit of this some time ago, but only just now garnered the confidence to post it. I decided not to post it separately as I'd like everyone to read the original fic (Chapter One) first, as it's much better on it's own. It's one of the few fics I'm proud of.**

**Anyway, if you're interested in reading a more detailed narrative of this AU, read on! I hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.**

**Reviews: You guys have been so sweet. It's what gave me the confidence to post this. I always love feedback!**

**Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, they're not mine. Rub it in, why don't you?**

**Rating: T?**

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"What could you possibly want?"

"How did you know I wasn't the police or something?"

"Why would the police be buzzing my apartment at 11 at night?"

"I don't know what you get up to in your free time, Donna."

"I looked out the window, Josh."

"Right. Well buzz me up."

"Why?"

"Donnnaaaaa."

"Josh, I can't just-"

"I am your superior."

"Josh-"

"Please. I need to talk to you."

There's a pause on the other end, and he fears his voice has betrayed too much. But then she buzzes him in, and he takes the stairs two steps at a time, not allowing himself to slow down and let doubt seep into his consciousness.

He actually wasn't drunk, this time.

Sure, he'd been _drinking_, but he wasn't drunk. This time he'd only just downed his first drink, bottle poised over his glass to pour a second, when in a decisive instant he'd slammed it down and sprinted out the door of his apartment. He hadn't stopped to think since.

He'd met with a woman that day.

She was beautiful, and funny, and seemed utterly interested in him, even if only in the _she's-mean-to-you-that-means-she-likes-you _way that some women have retained from their elementary years. She was powerful, intelligent, and honestly? He liked her. He did. He'd felt something like chemistry between the two of them.

He'd intended what he usually did when he liked a woman. He'd "fall into her sideways and hope she broke up with him soon", to use Donna-phrasing. He would call her, make some business excuse, charm her in that offhand way of his, and he'd forget to be lonely for a little while. Just a little overuse of the dimples. Just a little bit more of letting her talk down to him. It'd be easy. It'd be so, so easy.

And in another time, he would've wanted that. He would've tied himself in knots trying to navigate the minefield of a relationship they'd have, he'd mistake her condescension for charm, and he'd fight with someone he could fuck in the meantime. But _god damn it_, he just didn't want that anymore.

He'd got home, poured himself a drink, and all he could think of was her.

He didn't want something superficial, he didn't want something so temporary anymore. He didn't want anything else anymore. Anyone else.

He'd poured himself a drink, and the ache in his chest was all her laugh, her smile, her name written in cursive loops behind his eyelids, stretching into oblivion.

He just didn't want anyone else anymore. She was all that was left when he took down his defenses for the day, and damn it if she wasn't all that was behind them come morning. He didn't want to pretend anymore.

How dare she? How dare she not only cause him to fall for her, but take away his desire for anyone else? How was he supposed to get by?

_I don't want to "get by" any more..._

How dare she?

But then she's standing in front of him, illuminated by the flickering light in her kitchen, and any anger he'd goaded himself into feeling falls away. Everything always does.

"What do you need, Josh?" She whispers, brow furrowed. She looks somewhere between concerned and angry, the door opened halfway. His gaze skims over a tank top and a pair of what are most likely his pajama pants, her feet bare and the hollows of her collarbones sunk in shadow. "Josh?"

"Can I come in?" He doesn't wait for her response, brushing past her into the tiny apartment.

She grits her teeth. "Sure thing."

He looks around nonchalantly, as if he doesn't frequent the place each week any way. As if he hasn't seen each picture of Peter, each of his crayon drawings. He likes the ones that he's in, even if he is depicted as an ill-defined blue blob.

"I met with a woman today."

"You met with many women today. You're an important man." She crosses her arms, staring at him.

"The WLC woman."

"Amy Gardner."

"Yes."

"What about her?"

"I think... I don't know. I think I should like her, is the thing. I think I should, she's my type, ya know?"

"You came over here for dating advice?"

"Not really."

"Just how drunk are you?"

"Look, I..." He takes one step closer to her, wishing that perhaps he'd taken the time to think this through. "I don't want to date her."

"Okay."

"I would've, though. A while ago. I would've wanted to date her, not because I think we're somehow compatible, but because I just would. Like I do. Like how you tell me I tumble into women and hope they break up with me. I would've wanted to do that with her."

She's reverted to the worried look, biting her lower lip and eying him like she's thinking of having him committed. "Josh, I don't really..."

"But I don't, is the thing. I don't want that with her, and Donna... I don't want that with anyone anymore. I don't want to get by on something in the meantime."

"In the meantime of what?"

"When I poured myself a drink, all I could think of was... All I could think about was..." He can't articulate this. For the life of him, he can't. He can't confess it by the flickering light of her kitchen, at 11 at night, with her expression clearly stating that she's already reached a conclusion; he's drunk. He can't say something that he has yet to fully understand for himself, something that's been a terrible tenant in his chest for years now, growing and growling and refusing to sleep.

He can't even put it in words.

"Josh?"

He turns at the sound of this new voice, high pitched and sleep worn. At the end of the hall is a tiny shadow of a person, blonde hair glinting in the dim lights, splayed every which way across his head. He comes to life, hurtling down the hallway and flinging himself upward. "Josh!"

Instinctively, Josh bends to catch him, staggering slightly as he straightens up with the boy in his arms.

"Hey, little man."

Donna's eyebrows arch high in alarm. He can see it written on her face; _there's a drunk man holding my toddler. _He's almost offended at her anxiety, until he realizes with a thrum of sadness that it comes from a rational place.

"Put him down."

Trying to ease her nerves without actually obeying her, he walks slowly to her couch. He holds onto her son carefully as he sinks down onto the cushions. He's overwhelmed with a feeling of love for the tired little boy as he positions him carefully on his lap. Gazing absently at Donna, he smooths Peter's hair gently, so very much like his mother's.

"He could be mine, ya know."

He takes in the surprise on her face, and feels something alike to it, himself. He hadn't anticipated the arrival of those words quite so soon or so suddenly; however, there wasn't much about tonight that he'd anticipated.

"He... What?"

"Both of you. You could both be mine."

She stares at him for a long time, and after a while he can't meet her gaze. He looks down at Peter, who flops back against him dramatically. Absently, he switches him to a cradling position, and the boy pops his thumb in his mouth.

"Give him here. He's tired."

"Okay." He stands and passes Peter off to her, watching the tender expression on her face as her spindly arms hold the toddler to her firmly. She walks out the door without looking at him, murmuring sweet reassurances to her child. When she returns a few minutes later, her gaze is unreadable.

"You can sleep on the couch."

"Donna, I-"

"Here's a blanket." She gestures to a throw on the back of an armchair, and retreats to her bedroom, before he can speak. He stands looking at her closed door probably long after she's asleep.

Eventually, exhaustion overtakes him and he sinks back onto the couch. He slips off his shoes and unbuttons his shirt, leaving him in slacks and a t-shirt. Honestly, there's a fair chance that if he snuck into Donna's room, he'd find another pair of his pajamas to borrow, but he doesn't really want to risk waking her. Especially since she'd be waking to find him rooting through her drawers. It would not go over well, to say the least.

He doesn't bother with the blanket, stretching out on his back and staring at the ceiling. His mind dimly replays the scene of Donna carrying Peter to bed, the warmth that had risen unbidden in his chest, the feeling of completion, and... something else. He thinks of days in the office with the little guy, laughing and handing him off in such synchronization that you'd think they had telepathy. He thinks of long nights here, falling asleep over one or the other of the Moss' equally terrible taste in cinema. He thinks of the clever, interesting, and thoughtful little boy he'd be hard pressed to call anyone's but his own. He thinks of Donna.

They should be his.

XxxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXXxXxXxXXxXXxXxXx

He comes awake in the morning to a light pain in his forehead. Confused for a moment, he opens his eyes blearily just as Peter thwacks him with his palm again.

"Ow, hey!"

He sits up abruptly, looking down at the boy in his Spider-Man pajamas, smiling up at him so innocently.

"Hi."

"Hi, Peter."

"Mohning."

"Is it?"

He gazes back silently, so Josh checks his watch. 5:15. "Wow, it's early, little man, huh?"

Peter shakes his head back and forth adamantly. "Bakefest."

"Is your mom up yet?"

He shakes his head again.

"Well, lucky her." He mutters to himself. "C'mon, Peter, I'll make you some breakfast."

No use in waking Donna before her alarm; might as well let her sleep. He stands and offers his hand, which Peter takes gladly. They walk to the kitchen, where after a moment's indecision, he lifts the boy up onto the counter. He laughs giddily.

"Don't fall, okay?"

"Kay."

"Your mom probably doesn't let you sit up there, huh?"

"Nope."

"Well, I've always been the fun one."

Peter laughs again. "No."

"No?"

"Mom is fun."

"You're right Peter, she most certainly is. My sincerest apologies." He smiles.

"Bakefest."

"Right. What do you want to eat?"

"Juice." He stretches the word out, joooooose.

"Sure thing, kiddo."

He opens the fridge, pulling out apple juice. He roots around for one of those little kid cups and a matching lid (Damn, did her dishwasher eat all the ones that'd fit?), and hands it to him a minute later. He guzzles it happily, humming something that might be the theme to "Elmo's World".

"So what do you want to eat?"

"Joose." He says simply, beginning to kick his legs alternately, banging his heels back against the wooden cabinets.

"Hey, cut that out. You don't want to wake your mom up."

Laughing, he continues to bang his feet.

"Oh, bad idea, Peter. Bad idea." With a grin, he lifts him off the counter, spinning him around as he squeals delightedly. He brings him to rest on his shoulder, where he doesn't weigh even so much as his backpack. He turns back to the fridge. "Now that we've got that taken care of-"

"No faaaiiiiir." Peter whines, beating one little fist against his back.

"I think you'll find that we have very different definitions of fair, Peter."

Peter laughs, continuing to punch him for a little while before growing weary of the fight. "Fine."

"So, kid, what do you want for breakfast?"

"Joose."

"I think we've got that part taken care of."

"Joose."

"You've got to eat something, Peter."

"Joose."

Deciding that the toddler will be of little help here, he opens up the fridge.

"Eggs?"

"Joose."

"Toast?"

"Joose."

"Cereal?"

"Joose."

"Waffles?"

"Awfuls!"

"Looks like we have a winner." Swiping the box from the freezer, he straightens up carefully. "How many do you want?"

"Foh."

"Try again."

"One."

"Okay." He puts two in the toaster, because, hey, a waffle was sounding pretty good right about now. Waiting for them to toast, he reaches up to put one hand on Peter's back. "You want to get down yet?"

"Spin meee!"

"Spin you?"

"Spin!"

Josh grins a little. "What makes you think I can do that? Sounds dangerous."

"Spiiiin."

"Alright, buddy, but remember this next time you're trying to decide who the fun one is."

"Mom."

"Oh, you're gonna get it." Easily lifting the little boy from his shoulders, he hooks his hands under his arms and turns him in circles, causing him to squirm and laugh wildly. Growing dizzy, he stops and pulls him closer, placing a kiss on his forehead, something he did on occasion. Something he might just start doing more often.

"Again!"

"I don't think so, little man, your mom-"

"Doesn't want him to hit his head and get a concussion?"

He turns comically to see Donna leaning against the kitchen/living room divider, arms folded.

"Well, umm." He tries for a smile. "Speak of the devil."

To his relief, she just rolls her eyes at him. "Morning."

"Morning." They chorus.

She wends her way over to them, reaching out to ruffle her son's hair. "You know, Peter, Josh is very clumsy. He could drop you."

Josh looks offended, but Peter just laughs. "No!"

She takes him from Josh carefully, balancing him on one hip. "Has he been up long?"

"No, just ten minutes or so."

"Okay. Do you want some breakfast, baby?"

Right on cue, the toaster finishes. Josh walks over and pulls out toaster waffles, taking a bite out of one and handing the other to Peter. He devours it happily.

Donna narrows her eyes at Josh as he smiles at her innocently over a waffle. "What?"

"He needs to eat off a plate."

"Why?"

"I'm teaching him table manners."

"A bit late now." He gestures to the boy in her arms, the only remnants of his breakfast being crumbs on his pajama top.

"Joose!" He holds out his hand toward his cup on the countertop, so Josh hands it to him.

"You're corrupting my child." Donna says absently, though she doesn't look too angry. She smiles vaguely, looking between her son and her boss; standing in her kitchen, eating a toaster waffle, and tending to her child, he's obviously right at home.

Josh smiles back uncertainly. "That could be your catch phrase, honestly."

"Will you make some coffee?" She asks, eyes hopeful.

He heaves a dramatic sigh. "Oh, alright."

He sets about fixing a pot, as Donna wends her way around the kitchen, bouncing her son gently.

"Do you want to get dressed now, buddy?"

"No."

"I think you should."

"No."

"You can't wear pajamas to school."

"Yuh-huh."

"I don't think so."

"But-"

"How bout this, I'll let you get dressed all by yourself this morning."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay."

"On one condition."

"Wha?"

"I get to help pick out the clothes."

"Moooommmm."

"Ah-ah. That's the deal."

"Kay."

Noticing Josh concealing his laughter, she gives him a look. "What?"

"Nothing." He says with a smile, shaking his head as he measures out ground coffee.

She rolls her eyes. "If I let him pick out his clothes, it'll be underwear and a cape."

Josh gives her a grin. "A dignified look."

"Not so much."

"Hey, Donna?" He calls as she heads for Peter's room.

She turns back to him. "Yeah?"

"Does his underwear have his name in it, too?"

"Shut up." Concealing a grin, she leaves.

Within a few minutes, she's back, by which time the coffee's done and he's poured them each a mug. "Here ya go."

"Thanks." She accepts it, eyes sparkling.

"Yeah, yeah. You can look at me like that all you want, this isn't becoming a regular thing."

"Josh?"

"What?"

"It already is a regular thing."

He shrugs. "Yeah, well."

Smiling, she moves past him to put Peter's cup in the dishwasher. "I'm impressed, Joshua. You're handling this hangover with extreme grace."

He looks at her in surprise. So this was how she's chosen to bring up last night. "Well, I-"

"Do you want some Advil? Or have you already taken some?"

"Umm, I haven't-"

"Just how much did you drink last night, exactly? Your delicate system doesn't usually recover this quickly-"

"Donna." He interrupts her firmly. She turns to face him, face unreadable.

"What is it?"

"Donna, I wasn't drunk last night."

She remains rigid on the spot, gazing at him with scrutiny. "You.. You weren't?"

"I wasn't."

"So you remember-"

"I remember everything I did. Everything... Everything I said." He's having trouble looking at her, but it'd be harder to look away. "And I meant it."

"You meant it?"

"I did."

"You... You meant that..."

"I know I wasn't very clear, last night. I know that. But I wasn't drunk, and did you... Did you get what I was trying to say? Just a little bit?"

It's then that he's overwhelmed with relief, because she's not just staring at him blankly, worriedly, she's _smiling_. She's smiling at him, a big, genuine smile. "A little bit."

She places her mug on the counter, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around his neck. With no hesitation, he grips her back.

"We're going to need to talk about it a bit more, though."

"Sounds reasonable."

"Things will be... Complicated."

"Very complicated." He agrees, but he can't help the smile on his face. He holds her to him, wanting to shield her from the world, wanting the two of them to fade into another reality. He loves the way that she feels in his arms.

"But you think... You're sure that you meant..."

"I'm up for complicated."

"Yeah?"

"Complicated is my middle name, Donnatella Moss."

"Don't I know it."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

She shakes her head and draws back from him, smiling. "You should go home and get ready for work."

He winces. "Do I have to?"

"Yes. You can go home while I take Peter to school, and I'll see you back at the office, okay?"

"And we'll..."

"We'll talk later."

"Okay." he makes no move to leave.

"Okay."

The two of them might've stayed there forever, staring at each other as though for the fist time, if it hadn't been for the cry from the bedroom.

"Moooommmm!"

She gives him half a smile. "Go."

"I could-"

"Shirt stuuuccckkkk!"

"Go." She laughs a little, and he does too. "I'll see you later."

"Ah-kay." As she brushes past him to get to the bedroom, he kisses her cheek almost reflexively. She freezes only for a moment. Her hand comes up to her face, fingers tracing the spot lightly as she disappears from view.

Taking a deep breath, he gathers up his stuff and leaves.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

His heart picks up speed when he hears her enter the office. He picks up the file he'd abandoned a few minutes ago, the one he was supposed to have read before senior staff. Fat chance.

"Hey, Donna."

"Hey, CJ. How's your morning going?"

"Oh, fine. As fine as any morning of mine, mi amore."

"So, uhh-"

"I'm working through it."

"That's good."

"How's Peter?"

"Oh, he's great. Dropped him at school half an hour ago, he's really getting better about separation anxiety."

"That's great!"

For the love of god, how much small talk did the woman have in her?

"Yeah, the first week he was utterly inconsolable. I had to sit with him for ages-"

"DONNA." He'd given her enough time, yes? It was justifiable that he'd needed something so soon upon her arrival?

"That's my cue."

"I'll talk to you later."

"Yeah, see you."

He can hear the click of her heels and then she's rounded his doorway, smiling brightly. "You need something?"

_You. I need you. Umm._ "Yes."

"What would that be?"

"Well."

"Senior Staff in ten."

"I know."

"And you have June from policy at 8:30."

"Okay."

"And Bruno after that."

"Right."

"You've stood up. Why are you standing?"

"I'm closing the door."

"Why?"

"Can you let me talk for a minute?"

"Maybe."

He stops directly in front of her, trying vainly to focus his train of thought. God, she was... She was beautiful. In pajamas, in slacks and heels, in a ball gown. There was something undeniable in her big smile, the bambi-esque blue eyes. The sloping lines of her body, the way her hair fell in her face and over her shoulders. _I'm hopeless._

"Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"This is me letting you talk."

"Right, so, here's the thing." He fixes his gaze on hers. "We need to talk, or something, which I'm all for, but I really don't have the time this morning and I don't think I can go all day."

"Go all day without... Talking?"

"No. I can do that. But there's something I'd like to do, in the spirit of being utterly clear and unambiguous in this... Thing."

"Way to be utterly clear and unambiguous, there."

He smiles slightly. "Something I think is absolutely necessary to getting things straightened out and transparent to both parties."

"You're such a politician."

"Because we haven't actually talked about it yet-"

"To which 'it' are you referring?"

"You're so unhelpful."

"Whining isn't becoming."

"Look, I just want to-"

"-is now the best time, you've got senior staff in ten-"

"Do you ever shut up?"

"Not really."

"Right, well if you would for just one second-"

"But that doesn't seem likely, now does it?"

"Oh, _hell._" And then, with the spirit of being "utterly clear and unambiguous", he kisses her for the first time. He takes her face in his hands, and for a moment it's just his lips firm on hers. But then she's opened her mouth under his, and things are certainly "transparent to both parties".

It's mild, at first, a lazy exploration. Her hands come up to his waist. However many times he's pictured this, inadvertently, in the moments between sleeping and waking, wherever and whenever... Nothing could compare to the real thing. The surprise and exhilaration, the taste of her that was no longer abstract.

There are times when reality is infinitely better than fantasy.

Things are perhaps a little less mild now, lips and tongue and teeth gaining fervor, hands traveling. There's a knock at his door, and they pull back short of breath.

"Hang on a minute!"

He rests his forehead against hers, and notices that her eyes are still closed. She's smiling, that kind of smile that brightens his darkest days. He's smiling too.

"You good?" He asks quietly.

Her eyes blink open, and she draws back from him. Still smiling, she tucks back a couple strands of hair and pulls down her shirt. "I think I'll manage."

He grins. "Come in."

Sam pushes open the door, hardly looking up from the file in his hands. "Hey, Josh, I've been talking to Bruno..."

"Hey, Sam."

"Oh. Hi, Donna." He looks up with a harried smile as she makes to brush past him.

"Donna." Josh calls out. He's failing to repress a grin. She turns back. "I'm, uhh, glad we're on the same page, there."

She snorts. "Me too."

And then she disappears around the corner, and he's left with the image of her lips slightly swollen, of her eyes closed and breath shallow.

"Josh?"

"Mm?"

"I've been talking to Bruno, and we should probably push back the CBO report, this polling indicates... Is that lipstick on your face?"

"What? No." He swipes his sleeve across his face, and it comes back a shade of faded red. "It's, umm, frosting?"

"Whatever. Walk with me."

"Ah-Kay."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

"Hey, Toby."

Toby peers up from behind his paper. "No."

"I... I haven't asked you anything yet."

"No."

"Toby-"

"I know that look. You come in here, you flop down on my couch like you're in a therapist's office, and you rope me into your personal life. Not today."

Josh opens his mouth incredulously. "I so don't do that."

"Yes you do."

"Maybe I want to talk about work."

"If you wanted to talk about work, you would've walked in the door already talking about it. You wouldn't close my door and sit stoically on my couch."

"But Toby-"

"_No_." With an air of finality, he props his feet up on his desk and reopens his paper.

"You're like a... An older brother, Toby. I need your brotherly advice."

Toby raises one eyebrow. "Flattery gets you nowhere."

"Come on. I just want to talk hypotheticals."

"Hypotheticals?"

"I want to talk through a hypothetical scenario with you."

"Is it really hypothetical?"

"Sure."

"No."

"Toby, come on."

"Is this about a woman?"

"It might be."

"No."

"So, there's this woman. Hypothetically. A hypothetical woman. That I'm hypothetically interested in pursuing a relationship with. A hypothetical relationship."

"You're losing it, Josh."

"Sorry. Right. Well. There's this woman-"

"I'm not listening."

"Toby."

"Josh."

"Five minutes."

"Two."

"Four."

"Three."

"Fine."

"Fine." Sighing, Toby sits forward and closes his paper, rubbing at his eyes. "Pitch."

"There's this woman, right? And let's say, hypothetically, that I want to date her. But not, like, how I normally do. Like I actually want this to work out."

"Hypothetically?"

"Of course. So, I'm thinking of making a sort of... Hypothetical commitment."

"A commitment?"

"Yeah. Like, a big one."

"Josh, that's... That's really big for you."

"Yeah, well. The thing is, it kind of has to be a big commitment. There's a lot riding on it, ya know?"

"...There's a lot riding on it?"

"Hypothetically! Hypothetically, it's complicated."

"Define complicated."

"Like, to pursue this, she'll have to change jobs."

"She'll have to change _jobs_?"

"Hypothetically. And, well, she's kind of... It's kind of a package deal."

"A... What the hell are you talking about?"

"Like, there's a toddler included."

"A toddler?"

"Yeah. Like, ya know, a kid."

"I know what a toddler is, Josh."

"Right, well. A hypothetical toddler."

"Josh, you're about the least discreet person I've ever met."

"What do you mean?"

"From the moment you said commitment, I knew we were talking about Donna."

Josh looks over at him incredulously. "I... I didn't..."

"There's just no one else you'd commit to. And if I hadn't figured it out by then, the job and the toddler would've done it for me."

Josh gives him a sheepish grin. "I was hoping it might."

"So. You two are getting your act together?"

"It would appear so."

"Okay. The administration can deal with it. It's incredibly difficult to demonize a blonde woman and her toddler, so the press won't make much of her. You, on the other hand..."

"I'm very demonizable?"

"That's not a word. But yes. CJ will deal with it, okay? Just let her know, keep things quiet until she's got a game plan."

"Right."

"Spread it around. Tell Leo, tell Sam. Don't keep people in the dark too long, none of us take well to secrets these days."

"Right."

"You can go now. It's been three minutes."

"Yeah, umm, the thing is, I might actually have to make the commitment first."

"You... What?"

"I have to commit. Like, not hypothetically. I think I should, ya know, talk to Donna before I tell other people."

Toby's eyes practically bug out of his head. "The commitment was actually hypothetical?"

"Well, yeah. The rest of it, not so much."

"You haven't done it yet?"

"Well, not explicitly. We made out in my office this morning, though."

He gathers that this might not have been the best response, as Toby starts to bang his forehead on his desk.

"Hey, Toby! Toby, calm down."

When Toby straightens back up, it's with a wry grin. "Josh... Josh." He laughs a little. "Don't you think... Don't you think that's a bit of a wide gap to draw a conclusion from?"

"Hm?"

"Don't you think commitment is a bit of a far cry from making out in your office?"

Josh furrows his brow. "Is it?"

"Among us normal people."

"So how would you know?"

"Josh."

Josh shrugs. "Look, I'll... We're going to talk about it, okay? We will, but... You don't get it. With Donna... Commitment isn't a far cry from anything. You should've known, I should've known... Something starts between us, it's just not ending."

"She's endgame?" Toby smiles in a way that could be sarcastic, but could be genuine. It's impossible to tell.

Josh gives him a slight grin. "Yeah."

"Well, you might want to let her know that."

"Good point."

Josh reaches for the door handle, ready to follow through on Toby's advice, when the Communications Director calls him back.

"Hey, Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"She... She has a kid."

Josh looks at him in confusion. They'd discussed this. "Yeah."

"She's the mother to someone else's child, is what I'm saying." Toby runs a hand over his eyes, sighing. "And once you take on that commitment, it's not... I just want to make sure you've thought about it. It can't be spur of the moment. You can't take on someone else's family without thinking about what it'll do to you. It's a big change, and I just want to make sure you're ready for it."

Josh tilts his head at Toby. "Someone else's family?"

"You were right, is all I'm saying. It's a big commitment. And you might want to think about... If you'd rather wait for someone who you can have all that for yourself with."

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm saying, if you'd rather start your own thing with someone who doesn't already-"

Josh holds up his hand, cutting him off. "No, I get it Toby. I get what you're saying."

"Okay."

"I just... I get it. I get it and I'll think about it, and... I'll see you later."

"Yeah." He picks up his paper, replaces his feet on the desk, and resumes reading. Josh leaves his office, deep in thought.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

By the time he's back from a lunch meeting on the hill, Josh has made a decision; he's going to deal with all this bureaucracy crap before he talks to Donna.

He's pretty sure the two of them are on the same wavelength, anyhow. They always are. They communicate generally in that half-baked way, reading between the lines and connecting the dots. It came naturally. Sure, it'd be good to get things out in the open, but it could wait. He had to make sure it was all wrapped up on his end first.

On his way to CJ's office, he lightly trails his fingers across the back of her neck. She shivers a little.

"Hey."

"Hey."

See? A myriad of things communicated, right there. He walks into CJ's office without knocking.

"Why hello, Joshua. Don't mind the fact that I've got both an assistant outside and a closed door to prevent your entrance, just walk right in and make yourself at home."

"Ah-Kay."

"What do you want?"

"Could you be a little bit more friendly?"

"Hardly."

"Look, I need to talk to you about something."

"Shoot."

"It's personal."

She raises one eyebrow. "Close the door."

He does as she's asked, and returns to stand in front of her desk.

"So what've you done?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Why am I doubtful?"

"I just want to talk hypotheticals."

"Hypotheticals?"

"Yes."

"Just start talking, Josh, I don't have all day."

"Don't you?"

"Senior Staff in five, Josh, start talking."

"Okay, so." He bounces on the balls of his feet, hands in his pockets. "Listen. Let me know if you could spin this, okay?"

"Josh-"

"Strikingly attractive Bartlet staffer begins dating his, also strikingly attractive, assistant. Don't worry, though, she doesn't work for him anymore. Also, she's undemonizable, as she's all wholesome and midwestern and a single mother. Well, not so single anymore. And, the Bartlet staffer is undemonizable because he's, ya know, strikingly attractive. Do you think you could spin that, hypothetically?"

She looks up into his tentative smirk, dumbfounded. "I... Undemonizable isn't a word."

"Well, you're an intelligent woman. I'm sure you could find a synonym."

Quite calmly, CJ stands from her chair and straightens her skirt. She walks around her desk and stops in front of the Deputy Chief of Staff. She commences punching him.

"Ow - hey - CJ!"

"Why - didn't - you - _tell_ \- me!"

"I'm telling you now!" He holds up his arms defensively, and her fists fall to her sides.

"How long?"

"CJ, I'm being about as proactive as I can get!"

"_How long?_"

"It's been six hours!"

"You... What?"

"CJ, nothing's official yet."

"It isn't?"

"No!"

"Oh! Well congratulations!" She throws her arms around his neck as suddenly as she'd begun to pummel him, and he stands stiff and surprised in her embrace.

"...Women are crazy." He mutters, awkwardly patting her on the back before she releases him.

When she draws back, she's smiling at him. "Congratulations, Joshua."

"On... What?"

"On getting your head out of your ass."

"Well... Thanks, pal."

"No problem. It's only been, what, three years?"

He smiles slightly. "Something like that."

"Leo will transfer her?"

"We haven't talked about it yet."

"That's alright, we can at senior staff. Walk with me?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Bemused, pleasantly surprised even, he grabs her suit jacket from the back of her chair and helps her into it.

"So, six hours, huh?"

"Yeah."

"But you've had time to think about it?"

"Well, three years-"

"The reason I ask is, and I know you're not going to want to hear this, but you're not exactly the image of commitment, ya know?"

"I..."

She continues on, getting worked up now. "And we all know you've had this thing for Donna for some time, but she's a person, you know? And she's a mother. You can't string her along, you're all in or you're all out. You have to make sure it's what you want."

He gives her a look, pleasant surprise fading. "I thought you were happy for me?"

"I am, Josh, I am." She gives him a soft smile as they slow outside the oval office. "I care very deeply about both of you, and I don't want either of you to be hurt. This is a lot you're taking on, you know, and if you're not up to it... It'll hurt you as much as anyone."

She's talking very rapidly. His head hurts. _Why doesn't she get it? Why doesn't anyone?_

"CJ, I know what I'm getting into."

She shakes her head gently, a classic _I-know-better _gesture. "You think you do."

"You're wrong."

"What's CJ wrong about?" Sam strolls into the outer office, smiling between them.

_Oh god. No, this isn't how this is supposed to happen. _It's all happening too quickly.

"Josh and Donna." CJ says absently.

"Hey, that's a thing now?"

CJ laughs. "When hasn't it been?"

Josh starts pacing agitatedly, one hand in his hair, as Toby walks in.

"I take it you've all heard?"

"He told you first?"

Toby scoffs. "Of course he told me first. I'm like... An older brother figure."

"I'm the press secretary!"

"I'm his best friend!"

"You guys want to yell at him, not me?"

_No, no, no. This is all wrong, it's..._

"Has it been a while? Like, he's thought about Peter and everything? Or, well, Josh, I guess that's a question for you."

"Damn right it is." He growls, but they hardly hear him.

"That's what I was asking him about. Apparently it hasn't been that long, and I just don't want to see Donna get hurt..." CJ trails off.

"Or Josh." Toby rebukes.

"Yeah, but if he hurts Donna, I'll kick his ass." This is Charlie, walking past them calmly to his desk.

"No, I wouldn't-" Nobody can hear him. Isn't this his life they're talking about?

"But you can't go out with a single mother without making a commitment, Toby."

"He says he's making one."

"But does he know what that means?" Sam asks.

"Ask him!"

"I thought you did."

"I did, but if you want it all first hand-"

"Even if he thinks he knows, you can't just jump into being a father figure-"

"And what if he wants his own kids?"

"Well, yeah, there's that-"

_"Am I even a part of this discussion?"_

"Someone should gauge Donna's take on it, you know how Josh jumps to conclusions."

_Evidently not._

"What the hell is going on in here?"

"Leo, thank god." Josh mutters. The others rapidly fall silent.

"Well? Is someone going to explain? Has something exploded that I'm not aware of?" The Chief of Staff asks irritably.

"You would think so..." Josh starts.

"Josh wants to date Donna." CJ interrupts.

"Really?" Leo raises his eyebrows.

"Wants to?" Sam interrupts. "Wait, they aren't already?"

"I tried to tell you-"

"Well then there's no way she's up to speed on this-"

"No way he knows what he's doing, you know, with six hours forethought-"

"_Will all of you shut up?_" Josh shouts above the squabble, and five heads turn toward him in surprise. "I just... Thank you."

He paces away from them again, one hand rubbing his forehead, attempting in some way to still his mind. It's Leo who breaks the silence.

"Josh-"

"How dare you?" He says loudly, turning suddenly to glare at his friends. "Any of you! How dare you presume to speak on something on which you know nothing? All of you. You don't know anything. You guys are my closest friends, don't get me wrong, but if you're going to be plaguing me with these stupid ass questions any longer, I'll be starting to question our levels of intimacy, ya know? Because all of you... How could you think I don't _know_? How could you think I haven't thought about it? In three years, do you think there's been a day that goes by that I haven't? Well?"

He stretches his arms outward in incredulity, and they're all too wise to answer.

"If you think I don't... If you think I don't know what I'm getting into." He laughs humorlessly. "God, I've... I know she has a son. I know that's a big thing to get into, and you know what? I want to. I'm glad to. Because I've known them for three years, I've known that kid since before he was born, and _for Christ's sake_, they aren't anyone else's family! It'll be complicated, and it'll be confusing, but... That's what I do. And that's what I want."

Leo takes one step forward. "Josh-"

"And you're all thinking you know better, asking if I don't want this with someone else, with someone... Someone I can start it with. Myself. Do you... Do you know how cowardly and self-centered that is? Do you? Do you think that you all can treat her like damaged goods? Because you can't. I don't want that with anyone else, do you realize that? I don't want that with anyone else."

"_Josh_." Leo pleads softly.

"Are you happy? I love her, I love them both, so you can quit telling me what I mean and don't mean and what I know and don't know, because I know _that_. And I mean _that_. And if any of you have anything more to say, I'll gladly address your concerns."

He glares at them, dating anyone to speak up. It's a few seconds before he realizes that they're all looking past him, incredibly tense expressions on their faces.

_Oh god. No. Please no._ He turns around slowly, bracing himself. _Ah_, _shit_.

"I... I just came to..." Donna waves the folder in her hand rather aimlessly, eyes wide. After a moment, she shoves it toward him and he takes it reflexively. "I have to go."

She practically sprints from the office.

"Well that was... That was..." Sam, ever eloquent and well-spoken, is at a loss. "That was bad on so many levels."

CJ smacks him, but Josh isn't really paying attention. He only turns back at the weight of Leo's hand on his shoulder.

The older man gives him a twisted smile. "Go."

"I..."

"Go."

"I... Thanks."

"I tired to warn ya, but..."

"Yeah. I'm on it." Taking a deep breath, Josh turns to the others. "If that's okay with you all?"

CJ gives him a misty smile. "I'm sorry."

"I think that from this, we can safely conclude that you should never again involve me in your personal life." Toby mutters.

Sam smiles. "Go get her."

"Right." He heads for the door.

"Hey, Josh?"

"Yeah?"

Leo gives him a smile. "I was with ya from the start, kid."

With a grin and a salute, he's tumbled out the door into the hallway, leaving Leo alone with the remaining staffers and Charlie. He turns to them ominously.

"Leo, look-"

"_What the hell is the matter with you all?"_

Just then, Jed pokes his head into the outer office. "Charlie, I told you to send them in five minutes ago."

"Yes, sir, I-"

"Where's Josh?"

"..."

"..."

"Why don't we go inside and we'll catch you up, sir?"

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxxXxXx

He finds her outside, leaning against the building and staring out across the parking lot.

"God, you came out here without a coat?" He stops a few feet from her.

She glances at him. "So did you."

"I, uhh... Fair point." He shrugs off his suit jacket, stepping just close enough to hand it to her. He's relieved when she accepts it and shrugs it on.

He stands beside her, arms crossed to shield himself from the cold. He just watches her. Expression utterly unreadable, she resumes her scrutiny of the horizon.

They stay like that for a long time. She stares into space, he stares at her.

"Donna-"

"It would've been nice." She cuts him off loudly. When she next speaks, it's softer, and she closes her eyes. "It would've been nice, if you'd told any of that to me first."

He almost laughs. "Believe me when I tell you that I share your frustration in the fullest."

"Do you?"

"Trust me, that was the intention. To tell you first."

"But then...?"

"But then... I didn't." He says lamely.

She smiles slightly, eyes still closed. She looks beautiful, in his jacket, and it's the only thing keeping him warm. "You got carried away?"

"I did."

"How very like you."

"Hey, at least... At least things are utterly clear and unambiguous, now." He offers a timid smile, which she finally opens her eyes to see.

"Are they?"

"On my end." He amends. "I have yet to know what you're thinking, of course. Which is a key and defining factor. And if you'd care to... Ya know, enlighten me, that'd be good. Whenever you're ready, I mean. You can take your time."

She's silent for a long time, still smiling vaguely. When she finally turns to look at him, the intensity of her gaze sends shivers down his spine.

"I..." Donna casts her gaze about, vainly searching for words. After a moment, she holds up her hands helplessly. "I love you too."

"You... What?" Had he heard her correctly? She doesn't look too loving just now.

"I said that I love you too!" She nearly shouts at him, irritably flicking a strand of hair out of her face. "And that's really all I have to say, because you got to make the big dramatic speech, and what've I got left than to just agree with you? I love you too, and I don't want you to have to justify yourself to anyone. If you're in, than I'm in too, and everyone else can get over it, Josh! I agree with you! Don't look at me like you're concerned that now you've spilled all that I won't want you, because that offends me. I love you too, and if you want us... We're lucky. We aren't anyone else's family." She shrugs, looking away from him nervously and biting her lip. "We aren't anyone else's family, we're yours."

He opens and closes his mouth a few times. A grin forms slowly and unbidden on his face, one of those completely exhilarated, off-guard Josh smiles that makes her feel like she's coming home. He shakes his head a little, at a loss. "I think that was a pretty good speech."

After a moment, she laughs. "Thanks."

Eyes bright, he takes a step closer. "You love me?" He whispers it, as if in awe.

She nods. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"I know."

"So what the _hell_ are we _fighting_ about?" he yells suddenly, flinging his arms outward. His smile is miles wide.

She purses her lips. "Something tells me that most fights don't just end because that's true."

"But this one can!"

"You think?"

"Don't you?"

"Hmm... I don't know."

It's then that he realizes she's teasing him, and his arms fall to his sides. "C'mere."

She walks toward him with slow, purposeful steps, and he wraps his arms around her tightly. Huddled against the cold, she buries her head in his shoulder and curls her arms up inside his embrace.

"I love you." He kisses the top of her head.

"I love you." She echoes, and they both laugh just a little. It's madness, it really is. It's new, it's exciting, and it's the truth; it had been for years. They were entitled to a little euphoria.

"I love you." They sway back and forth slightly.

"I love you more."

"Well, you're an idiot."

"You're a bigger idiot."

"Was that supposed to be a comeback?"

"I'm tired, okay? Some jerk showed up at my apartment late last night."

"Should I kick his ass?"

"Probably."

"I love you."

"I love you."

And now they're both grinning like the idiots they'd claimed each other to be.

"I'd kiss you, but I'm pretty sure Danny hides in bushes."

"We'll get that sorted out soon?"

"Yeah, Toby's not worried. And Leo's behind us. I think he'll transfer you."

"That's probably for the best. The real question is, however will you get by without me?"

"I think I'll manage."

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Sacrifices must be made."

She draws back, smiling and flushed from the cold. "It's close to 1:30, I need to go get Peter."

His brow furrows. "Hey, why don't I do it? You should meet with Leo, and... yeah. I'll do it?"

"You want to?"

"Yeah."

She nods, endeared by the gesture. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"But really, try not to corrupt my child."

"We're heading straight for DC's best strip club, and then - Ow!" He runs his hand over his arm where she'd punched it. "Fine, fine. Though honestly, the role I'm taking on? No way he'll come out the other side unscarred."

She smiles. "Yeah. But better off for it."

"Ya think?"

"Yeah."

The grin is back. "Alright, well, get out of the cold."

"Okay."

"I love you." He calls as he starts to head across the parking lot.

"I love you too."

He takes out his keys and holds them up with a smirk, walking backwards. "To the strip club!"

He trips just a little bit, and she bursts out laughing as she heads back inside. _Yupp. That's my man._


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: It appears that in writing my other story, Here's To Feminism, I grew rather fond of Amy Gardner. So she appears here.**

**Disclaimer, rating, and review policy still apply.**

**XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx **

Sinking into a coach seat of the deserted 10pm flight from Sacramento to DC, Josh closes his eyes. God, it'd been a long week. The campaign was taking its toll on everyone, of course; however, he can't help but think that perhaps it's been a bit more taxing for him than for most. He had a family, now. He couldn't be trekking back and forth across the country every week.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

He opens his eyes blearily. "What? Oh. Yeah, sure."

"It's not my seat, but something tells me this flight's not going to be packed."

He laughs a little. "You could be right."

The woman in front of him turns to lift her suitcase into the overhead rack, and as he wakes up a little more, he recognizes her. Hey, hadn't he almost tried to date her?

She flops into the aisle seat, the middle one between them, and gives him a sideways glance. "I don't know if you remember me."

"No, no, you're... Uhh..." Really, he would've remembered her name, he would've, but it's almost midnight and he hadn't seen her since that one meeting... Seven months ago? Eight? No, it must've been eight, because, yes! He'd barged into Donna's apartment late that same night. And that's an occasion he won't soon be forgetting.

"Amy Gardner." She gives him a slight smile. "We met a few moths ago, and before that-"

"You dated my roommate!" He cries victoriously. _See? I'm a people person._

"Yeah. That'd be me."

"Right, right, and now you're over at the WLC."

"Yeah. I was actually in Sacramento for the international conference..."

"Of course, yeah, I forgot that coincided with our campaign stop. Abbey Bartlet set it up that way."

"Yeah. Smart woman."

"Yeah." He smiles. They lapse into silence as the flight attendant starts up her seat belt tutorial. The plane is only about a quarter full, and most people are nodding off.

"So, if you were in town with the Bartlet gang, why aren't you on Air Force One?" Amy asks curiously as they prepare for takeoff.

"Hmm? Oh, well, they aren't leaving until later, and I wanted to get home for a couple hours."

"You wanted to get home... For a couple hours?" She repeats incredulously.

"Yeah."

"A couple hours, in the middle of the night, before you have to jet back to work at 5:15 anyway?"

"Yeah." He smirks. "I have a wild night life, Amy."

"Oh, I'm sure." She replies sarcastically.

"What are _you_ doing taking the night bus?"

"...It's a plane."

"It's a figure of speech."

"No it's not."

"Okay, well, just... What are you doing taking the night plane? See, that doesn't sound right."

She ignores this. "Well, those of us on who aren't on Air Force One have rather limited options, Josh."

"Right."

"And I had a meeting run late last night, so this is the only flight that'd get me back to DC in time for a breakfast meeting."

"That sucks."

"Yeah. But I've got no choice." She's looking at him curiously. "You, on the other hand..."

"What about me?"

"You have no reason to be on this shitty flight."

He shrugs. "None that you're aware of."

"Are they secret?"

"Could be."

"Must be good ones."

With a small smile, he tugs his wallet out of his pocket. "Very good ones."

He hands it to her, open on the only picture he has displayed. He watches her expression as she scans the image of Donna and Peter. It was taken a couple months ago, by one of the photographers from Danny's paper. They're laughing, Peter balanced on his mother's hip in the office bullpen, as she points and tells him to wave at the camera.

"He's adorable."

"Yeah."

"Your..."

"My son." He was still getting used to saying it, but it's definitely a good feeling.

She raises her eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She returns her gaze to the picture. "His mother?"

"Yeah."

"She's beautiful."

"I know."

Her brow furrows. "I don't mean to be rude, but-"

"But what?" He interrupts, perhaps a little harshly. He's rather sensitive to rudeness, where his family's concerned.

"I just... When I asked if you were dating your assistant..."

"Oh." He relaxes. "Yeah, well, I wasn't lying."

"No?"

"At the time." He clarifies.

"But by asking if you were dating her, I made you realize that you wanted to be?" She surmises.

He gives her an appraising look. "You're good."

"I know." She hands him back his wallet.

"I didn't mean to be a jerk, just then." He offers.

"I'm sure you didn't." She says dismissively. "So, your son-"

"Peter."

"Hmm?"

"His name is Peter."

"Right. Peter. He's not... He's not actually yours, is he?" She asks boldly, looking at him out of the corner of one eye.

He shrugs. "Sure he is."

"I meant-"

"I know what you meant." He says tersely. After a moment, though, he's once again regretting his abruptness. "Biologically, no. He's hers from... A past relationship."

"And you assumed the father role?"

He's growing more and more uncomfortable. "I guess so."

"Wow."

"Why is that so surprising?"

She shrugs. "Didn't peg you for the type."

He narrows his eyes. "What type?"

"The commitment type."

He gives a short laugh. "Yeah, well, neither did I."

"What changed ya?"

"She did."

"Right." She grins. "You're like something out of a rom-com."

He looks at her indignantly. "I take offense to that."

She holds up her hands. "Hey, I'm just callin' em like I see em."

"You do that a lot, don't you?"

"It works for me."

"Yeah, sure." He stares idly at the seat in front of him.

She looks at him for a little while. "So... No wedding ring?"

Refraining from groaning, he lets his head flop back against his seat. "Don't you think you're getting a little bit personal for in-flight conversation?"

"It's late, the flight's not long enough to bother sleeping, and you're entertaining."

"I'm _entertaining_?" he repeats incredulously.

"Yeah."

"For the love of god..."

"Come on. Are you engaged? Have you thought about it? Am I going to be the cause of another catalytic change in your life by bringing it up?"

He snorts. "No."

"...To which one?"

"I've thought about it."

"And?"

"And I'm working on it, okay?"

"Define working on it."

He sits up suddenly. He turns to look at her with the first semblance of interest. "Hey... You're a woman."

She's taken aback by his sudden shift in attitude. "Nice observation, J."

"No, I just meant... Do you have good taste?"

"I like to think so."

"Because I've asked CJ Cregg, but honestly, she'd give me the go ahead on something awful just to watch me fail, and the only other person close to female that I've asked is Sam Seaborn-"

"Hold on a second. What is it that you've asked these people, and what does it have to do with me?"

For the second time that night, he fishes around in his pocket. After a minute, he draws out a small black box.

"That's... Is that...?"

"What got me in a bit of a spat with airport security? Yes." Smiling slightly, he slides the ring case out of the box and opens it. Her jaw drops.

"You're showing me your _engagement_ ring?"

"You were right, things do get weirdly personal at this time of night." He reaches out to undo the tray table of the seat between them, and sets the ring up for display.

"And you're showing this to me because-"

"What do you think?" He blurts out.

For a minute, the two of them just sit there staring at it in silent contemplation.

"I think it's a yes."

He raises one eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"It's elegant, but not flashy... Classic. And if you'll let me see this-" she reaches over to grab his wallet from the chair between them, opening it to the picture again. "I think I can safely say that that suits her."

He grins. "Okay. Good. Thank you."

"Yeah, no problem." She says nonchalantly, as if it's every day that she gives an acquaintance input on his impending proposal.

Still looking a bit nervous, he replaces the ring in his pocket.

"So that's why you're on this shitty flight?"

He glances up at her, but she's still looking at the picture in his wallet serenely.

"Yeah."

"You're proposing this morning?"

He gulps. "Yeah."

Amy smirks. "Good luck."

"Yeah."

"You able to reply with anything other than 'yeah'?"

"Yeah."

She snorts. "So, why today?"

"Hmm?"

"Why does it have to be today?"

"Oh. Her birthday."

"That's sweet."

"I'm a man of occasion." He gives her half of a dimpled grin.

"I'll say."

"Just hope the gesture's worth it."

"It will be." she murmurs, still examining his picture. "She's a lucky girl."

"What?"

She detaches her gaze from the image of his smiling family. With a slight shake of her head, she flips his wallet closed and hands it back to him. "I just said, she's a lucky girl."

He looks at her for a moment, trying to decide if she's being sincere. "Thanks."

"No problem."

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXXxXx

Josh turns his key in the lock softly, shouldering the door open and entering his apartment as quietly as he can. He shrugs off his backpack and jacket, slips off his shoes, and pads through the living room. Stilling his breath, he approaches the door that had once been his guest bedroom. Now, however, the walls are painted a bright blue and plastered with power ranger posters.

He sidles in the cracked door cautiously. Coming to a halt at the foot of his son's bed, his face breaks into a warm smile. Peter is fast asleep, limbs spread haphazardly and his blanket on the floor. Wincing at each creak of the floor, Josh bends to retrieve it.

Even as he replaces the cover as delicately as humanly possible, the little boy stirs. Blue eyes, which seem almost to glow in the dark, blink open slowly.

"Dad?"

God, he still loved hearing that. "Hey, shh. I'm here, buddy, it's me."

He bends to his level, running one hand over his head. Peter attempts to sit up, but he stills him gently.

"You're back!"

"Yeah, I am. We'll talk all about it in the morning, okay, why don't you go back to sleep?"

Reassured by the sound of Josh's voice, his eyes begin to close once more. "Okay."

"I love you."

Peter's already begun to twist himself in the blanket again. "Love you."

Smiling again, Josh straightens back up and makes a stealthy retreat. He heads for his own room, rubbing at his tired eyes. It'd been a long night.

On stocking feet, he creeps into his bedroom. He pauses before making his way to his side of the bed, taking in the sight of Donna sleeping. He stands with his hands in his pockets, fingers grazing the box that rests there; he's rendered immobile by the way the faint moonlight graces her. She's facing the door, looking utterly peaceful, and he can't help but notice that she's wearing his clothes. He has a sneaking suspicion that she does that every time he's gone.

He wends his way around the bed, crawling in carefully on his side. He flips the blankets over himself, shifting closer until he can wrap his arms around her. He draws her as close as he can; it's only been thirty six hours, but he doesn't think he's meant to go so long without holding her.

He can feel her beginning to react to his touch, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't hoped she'd wake up.

"Josh?"

"Hey."

Sleep hazed, she attempts to turn and face him. She succeeds, but not without tangling the sheets spectacularly.

Eyes open a fraction of an inch, she smiles dreamily. "You're back."

"Yeah."

She reaches up one hand to touch his face, gently skimming her knuckles over his jaw line. "I thought you weren't coming back until morning, baby?"

Had he ever mentioned the powers that reside in Donna calling him baby? Particularly in a low, sleep worn voice? "Change of plans."

She grins delightedly. "I missed you."

"I missed you too."

"Mm. Good." She leans forward to kiss him, hand falling down his neck to rest on his chest. "Josh?"

"Yeah?"

"You're still dressed."

"Yeah."

"Why are you still... You're still wearing your belt and everything." She says in surprise. He won't pretend he didn't enjoy her quick catalogue of his body.

"Well, yeah. I mean, I don't know, I was going to get undressed, but then I came in here, and-"

"-and you were overcome?"

"Yeah." He grins at her charmingly.

"Here. Let me help." She says sweetly, starting on the buttons of his shirt.

"You're the best, you know that?"

"I do know." Between the two of them, he's undressed within minutes. "See? Better."

She rests one hand on his waist, stretching forward to place a kiss on his neck.

He smiles. "Yeah, but for which one of us?"

"It's mutually beneficial."

"Nah, I think it was all for you, Donnatella."

"So sue me." She murmurs tiredly, curling against him.

He brings one hand over to rub her back gently. "I probably won't see you in the morning."

"Early meeting?"

"Breakfast with the revenue people."

"Oh."

"I'll try not to wake you."

"I don't mind."

"Yeah. But since I won't see you until later, happy birthday."

He feels her smile against his shoulder. "You remembered."

"Of course I remembered."

"Thank you."

"You'll be showered with gifts."

"I don't want lots of gifts."

"Well, good. I only got you one."

"As long as it's a big one."

"I think you'll like it."

"Okay."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Getting three hours of sleep had never felt so worth it.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Donna wakes to the sound of her alarm, rolling over tiredly to shut it off. Even though she'd expected it, she's still slightly disappointed by the expanse of cold bed beside her. She rises quickly so as not to dwell on it, heading straight for Peter's room.

"Hey, baby. Time to wake up." She sits down beside his little balled form, patting his back gently. "Come on. School time, bud."

Little limbs begin to unfurl, and her three year old sits up, drowsiness evident. He yawns. "Mommy."

"Morning, buster."

"But I don't wannaaaaaa." He climbs out from under his sheets, scrambling into her lap and clinging to her desperately.

"I truly am sorry about that, baby. Can I make it up to you with some cereal?"

"No." Eyes already closing once more, he sinks against her abdomen.

"Well, what else can I do?"

"Where's dad?"

"He's at work, baby."

"Whabout you?"

"I'm going to work, too."

"I come."

"I'm afraid not. Your teachers will miss you dearly."

"Don't care."

"That's not nice."

"Can we see dad?"

"Later today, baby."

"Nooooo."

"I know, I know. I miss him too. But he's busy until you're done with school, anyway."

"Why?"

"He just is. There are a lot of things going on right now. But you know what?"

"What?"

"We're going to be with him all night, _and_ we're getting cake."

"Reeeeaaaallly?"

"You bet."

"Okay. Skoo."

"School." She affirms with a smile, lifting him out of bed with a bit of difficulty. Josh could still swing him around like a stuffed animal, but it's become harder for her these days.

"And cake."

"Yes. Lots of cake."

"And dad."

"Him too."

"And spiderman."

"Him, not so much."

"Sam?"

"I imagine he'll be around."

"Tall Lady?"

"Her name is CJ, Peter."

"Tall Lady."

"CJ will be there too."

"Eeyore?"

"Toby as well."

As they talk, she bustles around the kitchen to make him some breakfast. She sets him up at the table with a bowl of cereal, starting work on his PB&amp;J for lunch.

"I like Eeyore."

"I know."

"Why is he sad?"

"I'm not sure, baby."

"I make him un-sad sometimes."

"You mean happy?"

"Happy. Yeah. Eeyore is happy with me sometimes." He babbles around mouthfuls of fruit loops.

"Yes, sometimes he is happy. But since he's so serious, it takes a lot to make him happy."

"I make him happy."

She walks past him, ruffling his blonde hair with a smile. "You are pretty cute."

He scowls. "Nuh-uh."

"I hate to break it to you, buster, but you're adorable."

"Ad-Ador-"

"It means cute."

"Then I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Mooooommmmm!"

She takes a seat beside him, leaning in close to his flushed face. "What? I can't help that my baby is cute-" She pinches his side, making him giggle. "-and adorable-" she tickles his neck. "-and smart and handsome and all those other things." She leans in to place a kiss on his cheek, as he laughs hysterically.

"I guess."

"Glad we've got that settled." She collects his empty bowl, returning to the kitchen to place it inside the sink. "Why don't you go get dressed?"

"Okay." He pads through the living room toward his room. It's strange, they'd only moved in a few months ago, but it's already home.

"Good boy."

Peter stops in the doorway to his room. "Will Mr. Presden be there?"

Donna smiles. He still couldn't quite get the word President. "I don't know, sweetie. He's very, very busy."

"Mrs. Presden?"

"We might bump into her." Or rather, if she heard Peter was around, she'd suddenly come bustling through the West Wing.

"Okey dokey." He toddles happily into his room, still blushing from his mother's teasing. Smiling, Donna finishes up his lunchbox. When she's done, she turns on the TV to PBS so that Peter will have something to watch if she's not finished getting ready yet.

She thinks of Josh's late night return as she undresses, and by the time she hops into the shower, she's missing him. It was doubtful that he'd have a free lunch today, but at least he'd managed to clear time for her birthday. _Just a few more months_, she reassures herself. _A few more months until the election, and then things will go back to normal._ Whatever that was.

She clambers out of the shower, drying off and heading into the bedroom with the towel wrapped around her. It's on her way to the dresser that she sees something on the bedside table that she must've been too tired to notice first thing this morning. Curiously, she stops to inspect it.

A wide grin spreads on her face as she remembers her conversation with Josh. _"I think you'll like it._" How sweet. She picks up the box, poorly wrapped in what she recognizes as the same wrapping paper he's been using for the past two Christmases. She checks the tag.

_Happy Birthday. I love you._

She tears it open greedily. It's only when she uncovers the black box beneath that a flicker of doubt crosses her mind. _He... he wouldn't..._

With trembling hands, she slides out a velvet ring box. _No, no, no, he didn't..._

"Oh my god." She whispers. Within an instant, she's tearing up helplessly.

_I am a man of occasion, no?_ The little card inside the box reads, accompanying her present. She's crying whole-heartedly now.

"Mom?" Peter peers around the doorway. He must've heard her.

"Hey, baby." She chokes out through tears, attempting to give him a reassuring smile. It must not come off very well, as he walks timidly to her side. He wraps himself tightly around one of her legs.

"Why you crying?"

"Oh, I'm fine, buddy. Happy tears, I promise."

"Happy?"

"Yes. Sometimes people cry when they're very happy."

"You are very happy?"

"Something like that."

"Why?"

"Oh, no reason. It's just... Your dad..."

"Dad?"

"He's going to be in very big trouble later."

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An hour and a half later, Donna marches into the outer office, looking around several times as though a more thorough search might eventually turn up her boyfriend.

"What's up, Donna?" Charlie asks, hardly looking up from his paperwork at her strange behavior.

"Mm? Oh. Oh, nothing. Just came by to... Say hi." She blinks a couple times before remembering to smile. "Hi, Charlie."

"Hey, Donna." Charlie replies with thinly veiled amusement. "You sure there's nothing you need?"

"Me? Oh. No. Nope. Just thought I'd... Stop by."

"You need me to get Josh or something?"

"From Senior staff? No, you shouldn't... Probably busy. I don't know. Could you do that? Could you just... walk in and get him?"

"Yeah. You want me to?"

"No! No. That's not necessary. Or, well, if you're offering... No. I'll just wait. I'll just sit here, and wait for them to come out." Determinedly, she perches on the edge of a visitor's chair, hands folded neatly in her lap.

"You sure?"

"Yes. Yes, I'm sure." She stares at the door to the Oval, worrying her lip. "Well..."

"I'm gonna go get him."

"No, I didn't... Really-"

"Too late." Charlie raps lightly on the door and enters, hand still on the knob. "Excuse me, Mr. President? Could I have Josh for a minute? Thank you, sir. Yes, sir."

Charlie retreats to his desk, and a moment later, Josh peers sheepishly around the door. "Oh... Hi."

She stands awkwardly, walking to the center of the room. He follows suit, shutting the door softly behind him. He stops a few feet in front of her, gazing apprehensively at her expression.

"Hi? That's it?"

"...Happy Birthday?"

"You can't just... You can't just spring this on me! I wasn't prepared! You weren't... You weren't even there!"

"Well... I mean, wouldn't that have complicated the gesture?"

Charlie glances back and forth between them with an interested expression. It's not until Donna pulls out the ring box that he puts the pieces together.

"You can't just propose via note, Josh! That's not fair!"

"I... Thought it was a good idea."

"Admittedly, it was incredibly sweet, and thoughtful, and I cried, but... You weren't there! And I had to wait a whole ninety minutes to see you, and to tell you that..." She stops herself, angry façade breaking into the slightest grin. "Nope. I'm not going to say it until you propose."

"Haven't I already-"

"Down. On one knee. " She thrusts the ring box into his hands.

He looks around incredulously. "Here?"

Charlie gives him a big thumbs-up.

Donna nods, devious smile growing. "Yes. Here."

He takes in her expression, and after a moment, gets down on one knee, ten feet from the Oval Office, with a begrudging smile.

"Okay. Umm. Right. Here we go. I love you. A lot. More than I've ever loved... Anyone. Damn, I did _not_ plan on this. Definitely didn't plan on Charlie smirking at me. Okay. I love you. Tremendously. And I love Peter. You guys are everything to me. And, as you well know, I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you. Etcetera. So will you, ya know, marry me?"

"...Did your proposal just include the words 'etcetera' and 'ya know'?"

He backpedals rapidly. "Okay, what I meant was that, you know, you're, umm, the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I love you, yeah, just gonna go back to I love you-"

"Oh, get up."

He blinks up at her in surprise. "So that's... A yes?"

She beams at him, tearing up once more. "Of _course_, you idiot."

"Wait... Really?" His grin spreads rapidly, eyes wide.

"Get over here."

"Right, yeah. Yes. Okay." He scrambles to his feet, taking her hand and sliding the ring into place. She smiles down at it, eyes sparkling.

She wraps her arms around his neck tightly, swaying on the spot. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"Even if that speech was abominable-"

"Hey, I was under a lot of pressure-"

"It was also pretty sweet."

He smiles. "Well yeah... that was my intention."

"Mmhmm."

She kisses him, full force, having waited much too long to do so. He responds in kind, holding her tightly. When he does draw back, it's with an awestruck smile.

"Hey... We're getting married."

"We're getting married." She repeats giddily.

"How great is that?"

"Pretty great."

He dips his head to kiss her again, but is halted by a loud cough to his left. They both look around, bewildered; they had forgotten, of course, that they weren't alone.

Charlie gives them a patented smirk, eyebrows raises. "Guys, it was cute for the first thirty seconds, maybe, but this is a professional setting..."

Josh shakes his head, smiling. "Ah, shut up. You're the one ruining the moment."

"Any time."

Donna rolls her eyes. "Thanks for letting us use your office, Charlie."

"By all means, have sex on the desk, I'm just letting you know that staff'll be out in a couple minutes, and unless you want your asses handed to you by Leo-"

"Thanks, Charlie."

"Congratulations, you guys."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Surprise! I'm updating a story I haven't updated in almost a year! I hope there are still a few people left out there to read it, haha.**

**Anyway, I love you all and hope you enjoy. Reviews welcome! **

**Disclaimer: Sadly, still working on the rights to these guys. **

**Rating: T**

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"Donna?"

Looking up through her tears, she sees a pair of shoes. The shoes are connected to the lower half of a pair of jeans.

Ah. It was Josh.

He was standing a few feet away from her, and had obviously spotted her. In no mood to talk to him, she simply sniffles. Hopefully the fact that she was crying would be enough to scare him away.

"Donna, what are you... Oh." Crouched on the floor in front of her, he had brought himself level to her tear stained face. The look of panic on his own is almost enough to make her laugh. "Are you... Okay?"

"I'm fine. I'm fine." She sucks in a deep breath and attempts to wipe the tears from her face. She didn't want him to see her this way. So... Weak.

"No you're not."

"I'm fine, Josh. I'll be out in a minute, can you just... Go away?"

He looks as though he very much wants to obey her command. After a moment of indecision, he leans back and sits down. He attempts to maintain eye contact as he awkwardly rearranges his limbs. "What's wrong?"

Hearing real concern in his voice, tears once again begin to flow freely. "I don't want to talk about it, okay? I told you, I'm fine, it's just-"

"Is this about the way I've been acting?"

This stops her in her tracks. Because... Yes. It was a little bit about that.

It was about the fact that with the ground yanked out from beneath her, she had returned to the one place that she'd really felt at home. To the one person she had so desperately wanted to see. And he'd completely ignored her all week.

Sure, he'd spoken to her about work. He's asked her to hand him memos, or take calls, or whatever the hell else. But he'd spoken to her about very little else. Everything had changed. They didn't laugh anymore. They didn't bicker. He didn't look at her the same way.

He used to look at her like she was the sun breaking through the clouds.

Now it was as though she was just another staffer to him. Less than that, even. She'd spent the week retreating into herself a little bit more each day, her hope dissipating with every stony glance her way.

And add to it the fact that her hormones were shot to hell and that her nausea had prevented her from eating much aside from vending machine pretzels, and...

"You... Must... Think... I'm an... Idiot." She barely chokes out between sobs.

His eyes widen with panic. He reaches out a hand to touch her arm. "Hey, don't say that-"

"You must think... So little of me... For leaving, for coming back, for going back to that asshole, for-"

"Hey, shh. That's not true, I don't-" She's shaking violently, and he just desperately wants her to stop. She's tearing him apart with every word.

"And everyone else pretends but.. They think badly of me... Too! Everyone thinks I'm an idiot, and that I don't deserve to be here, and-" she breaks off into a fit of coughing, unable to continue.

"Oh, God. Okay, umm, let me get you some tissues-"

He leans forward over her to grab a box of tissues from CJ's desk. He imagines she'd chosen the room for its emptiness - CJ would be out all day with the Governor, taking questions.

He hands her the box, and she takes it resignedly. She wipes at her eyes and blows her nose, knowing what a mess she must look right now.

"Donna, listen to me. I know I've been a jerk the past few days, but I was just... It was just because... Never mind. It doesn't matter. But look, everyone is really happy to have you back, you know. You're great at your job, everyone loves you... Everyone missed you..." He trails off, unable to maintain eye contact. It was obvious how poorly equipped to deal with the situation he was, and how ill at ease he felt. That, and the fact that he wasn't quite sure if he'd forgiven her yet.

"You're just saying that."

He takes a deep breath and presses on. "Look, everybody makes mistakes. Honestly, it's not a big deal. It'll blow over, okay? In a few weeks, it'll be like you never left. Nothing will have changed, everything will go back to normal-"

"No, it won't."

"I'm serious."

"Josh."

"I'm sorry I was being an ass, I was just-"

"Josh, I'm pregnant."

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She just liked to watch them.

Leaning against the living room doorframe, Donna watches her husband and son with arms folded tightly to her body. They were playing with Legos.

"See, I'm building the millennium falcon."

"Whasdat?"

"It's a ship. It's a better ship than your ship, that's what it is."

"Nuh-uh. This is the Death Star."

"That's the death star, huh?"

"Yeah."

"It doesn't look like it."

"It's gonna kill your ship."

"How's it gonna do that?"

"With death beams."

"Alright, fair enough. But I'm just gonna add on some shields, see, and-"

"Cheater!"

She watches Peter laughing, sprawled on the rug, Josh smiling as he sits beside him and ruffles his hair. Warmth fills her chest as she watches her family. She thinks about how much she loves this - how much she loves him. And she thinks about how different this is from last time.

Last time, she'd felt so lost and alone. Now, she felt secure. She felt wanted. She felt loved. And everything was different.

Thinking about the scared twenty-two year old girl crying on the floor of a campaign office, she feels indescribably lucky. Tears well up in her eyes, blurring the idyllic scene before her.

Josh glances up at her with a smile, and she returns it. Seeing her tears, his expression dissolves into one of worry.

"Hey, Peter? Why don't you go hang out in your room for a bit?"

"Why?"

"Because, if I'll recall, there are quite a few Legos on the floor in there."

"But _dad_-"

"C'mon. Up. You can come back and destroy my ship later."

"_Fine_."

Josh stands and pulls Peter to his feet, pushing him in the direction of his room. "Atta boy."

With Peter reluctantly stomping toward his bedroom, Josh turns his attention to Donna. "Hey, what's wrong?"

She shakes her head, wiping a tear from her cheek. "Nothing. Honestly, nothing."

"I don't believe you."

He steps closer to her and places his hands on her arms, but she simply collapses into him. She buries her head in his chest, and wraps her arms tightly around his waist.

"Okay. Hey, it's okay." He runs a hand up and down her back slowly, trying to understand the situation. "It's okay. Come on, tell me what's up."

She pulls back an inch to give him a watery smile. "It's a good thing. I promise."

"It... Is?"

"Yes. Happy tears."

"Happy tears?"

"I've got some news for you."

"Happy news?"

"Josh, I'm pregnant."

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"You're... What?"

"I'm pregnant."

"No. Hold on. You're... No. You're what?"

"I'm pregnant, Josh."

"You're not. You can't be-"

"Knocked up? With child? It's Roy's, I'm only a few weeks along, but yes. I'm pregnant." For some reason she finds the look of shock on his face to be irritating beyond belief. Why couldn't he just accept it?

"You're... Pregnant." He says slowly, his eyes out of focus. "You're pregnant."

"Yes. Now you're getting it."

He finally looks at her, the strangest expression on his face. "Wow."

As quickly as he'd angered her, she is once again driven to tears. Maybe it was the way he was looking at her. He hadn't voiced any judgement, yet, but she knew what he was thinking.

"And now you're back to... Thinking what an... _Idiot_ I am!" She chokes out, her brief composure shattering.

Josh's look of astonishment vanishes, to be replaced by a familiar panic. "Hey, no, wait-"

"And I know I wasn't thinking, but I... I... I'm so sorry, Now I'm just-"

"Donna, what are you talking about? You don't have anything to be sorry for."

"And you're... Probably thinking... That I'm a real slut... And once everyone else finds out-"

This accusation snaps something inside of him. He grabs her arm tightly. "Donna. Donna, look at me. I wouldn't use that word to describe anyone. Especially you. Now, c'mon. Calm down."

"Calm _down_? How can I calm down when-"

"Take deep breaths."

Looking at him with a lost expression, she sputters slightly. "What?"

"I'm serious. Take some deep breaths. Calm down. Yes. Good. I'll, umm, get you some water. Yeah. Just keep breathing."

Any progress she had made toward calming down is undone as he makes to stand. She seizes his sleeve. "Where are you going?"

He looks down at her. He takes in her tear stained face, running nose, and wild hair. He tries, at that moment, to distance himself from the situation. _A young aid on the campaign was pregnant, and now he would help her through it. __He would help her get back on her feet, he would do a good deed, and he would put it out of his mind. It wouldn't be a big deal, for him_.

But he just can't look at her that way. He can't look at her with any kind of distance. Because she was Donna. And because seeing her this way was breaking his heart.

He knows that it will be a big deal for him. It won't be an issue of a couple weeks, or even a couple months. He would be there for her, for however long she wanted him. Because he simply couldn't stay away. Two months had killed him - any more than that was out of the question.

She'd made some mistakes. But who hadn't?

"I'll be right back." He speaks reassuringly, wanting the desperation in her eyes to subside. "I'm just going to get some water, I'll be right back."

"Don't leave me here, alone."

"I'd never do that. You've gotta believe me when I say that I would never do that."

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"You're... You're..."

He stares at her, his eyes slowly beginning to shine. The light in them was one that she had been feeling for the past fifteen minutes, ever since seeing the results of the test. "Yes."

"Pregnant?" His voice has dropped to a whisper, and his hands come up to either side of her smiling face.

"Yes."

His grin is delirious. "You're serious?"

"I really am."

"And it's mine this time?"

"I think there's a pretty good chance, yeah."

He laughs, tearing up a little. "That's great. That's amazing. That's... Oh my god."

"Couldn't think of another synonym?"

He pulls her back into a tight hug. "I love you."

"I love you too."

"We're... We're... Having a baby."

"We are."

"Together."

"I should hope so."

"I'm... I'm so..."

She runs one hand up and down his back. "I know. I know."

Everything felt different, this time. Looking at the results of the test the first time, she'd felt a dull sinking feeling. Followed by panic. She'd left the man she was with, knowing that he was unfit to raise a child, and every waking moment was consumed with worry. About her future. About their future.

And after all of that... she'd had a wonderful, amazing, and beautiful child. This time, there is little that she fears.

"The first one was yours, too, you know."

He pulls back to look at her for a moment. "I know, Donna."

"I know that maybe he didn't start out that way, but-"

"I know." He gives her a small smile.

"Mommy? What's wrong?"

They both turn, surprised, at the sound of Peter's voice. Donna breaks away from Josh and treads over to Peter. "Oh, nothing's wrong, baby. At least, not with me. Your dad, on the other hand? He's getting very emotional. It's all pretty dumb, don't worry about it."

Crouched beside her son, she casts a smirk over her shoulder at her husband. Josh returns it with a mock glare, hastily wiping at his eyes.

"She's lying."

"Why are you emotional and dumb, dad?"

"Well..."

"He's just thinking about how badly your Death Star is going to crush him later."

Peter laughs. "Oh. Okay."

Josh walks over to stand behind them, his arms folded. "You get all that stuff cleaned up?"

"Yupp." Peter giggles.

"Well then. Prepare for defeat, kid."

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"So... What are you going to do?"

Donna looks up from her water glass in surprise. "That's really a question you want to pose to a pregnant woman who's only just calmed down?"

Josh shrugs. "I'm just asking."

He'd brought her the water, and she'd taken a few minutes to collect herself. They'd sat in silence as she slowly dried her tears, slowed her breathing, and gathered her disjointed thoughts. And then they'd sat in silence a little bit more. It may have been just what she needed, but it was killing him.

"I... I don't know, Josh. What do you mean?"

"Well... What do you want? Are you going to go through with this?"

"With what?"

"With... The pregnancy."

She stares at him. "I - of course I am. Of course. I hadn't even thought- yes. Yes, of course I will."

He holds up his hands in defense. "Okay. Hey, I was just asking. Sorry."

She shakes her head, flustered. "It's okay... It's okay. It's just that... Wow."

"What?"

"Well... I'm really going to be a _mom_." She smiles almost surreally. "I'm... I'm actually _having a baby_."

Josh gives her an odd look. "Yeah. I guess you are."

"Oh, _God_. I need a plan. I need to be responsible, I need to have money, and a doctor, and a place to live." She gestures animatedly. The look of panic, which had only just been banished, returning to her face in full force. "I need to-"

"Hey, slow down." He shakes his head slightly as if to clear it. "Let's just talk it through for a minute."

"Where do we start? There's so much to consider, I don't know, I just-"

Perhaps a bit selfishly, he starts with the question that is most pressing to him. "How about this: do you want to keep your job here, or-"

"Yes." She interrupts firmly. "Yes I do."

"-or move back with your parents, or...?"

Donna smiles slightly, shaking her head. She takes one of those deep breaths that had worked so well for her before. "I don't want to do that."

"Well... okay."

"What?"

"It's just that... This is a demanding job."

"I know. Believe me... I know. But it's a job I believe in. And it's a job I'd like to keep doing for as long as I can."

Josh sees in her eyes the characteristic idealism that he'd so sorely missed. He smiles, relieved. "Good."

"Do you doubt my abilities?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Good."

"See? Look at you go. You've already got one thing decided."

She rolls her eyes. "You mock me."

"No, I'm serious! That's enough to build a game plan on."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He makes an attempt at a reassuring smile. "Hey... is there any chance you want to have this conversation at, you know, a coffee shop? Or a restaurant? Or any place with... Chairs?"

She shakes her head. "I like it here."

"On the floor?"

"I feel safe."

"Ah-Kay." He continues to watch her. "So... you'll stay with the campaign. You'll find a doctor here, and see them when you're not traveling. And then, when you can't travel anymore, you'll work from here."

"Sounds like _you've_ got a game plan."

"I'm making it up as I go."

"Does that work for you, generally?"

"Oh yeah. It's the best course of action."

"Okay. Glad you know what you're doing."

"You don't like the game plan?"

"I like the game plan. I do." She looks down at her hands, twisting a tissue. "And... I'm glad I've got someone to help me make one."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Well, good. I'm pretty good at winging it."

His dimpled smile is very slowly starting to make this - all of this - seem okay again. "Hey, would it be okay, if... If..."

"If what?"

"If we maybe just kept this between us? For now?"

"Oh. Yeah. Okay, sure."

"I mean, I know that people will have to know eventually-"

"You mean when you're the size of a blimp?"

"You're a jerk."

"I know."

"Well, good."

"But, yes. I'll keep it to myself for as long as you want me to."

"Thank you."

"And Donna?"

"Yeah?"

"You can do this, you know. I know that you can."

She tries, once more, to keep the tears at bay. "Thanks, Josh."

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"Plenty of important people we could name it after."

"Definitely."

"Reagan, for one."

"That's a good one. Sigmund Freud."

"Donald Trump."

"Ayn Rand."

"Maggie Thatcher."

Donna considers this. "I rather like the name Maggie, actually."

"...Well, we'd just tell people we named her after a relative of yours."

"For all they know, I could be related to Maggie Thatcher."

"Fair enough."

"So. Seriously."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Okay. Shoot."

It was about eight o'clock, and they'd just gotten Peter to sleep. They were on the couch, Donna slumped back against the arm with her legs across Josh's lap. They watch the news without really watching it.

"I think that you should name it."

Josh looks up in surprise. "Wait... What?"

"Yeah. I think you should name it. Within limit, of course."

"I... I don't understand-"

"I named Peter. And it's just that... After all that you've done for us... I think that you should get to do it this time around."

A slow grin spreads across his face. "That's, umm, a big responsibility."

Her lips curl up in a smile. "I'll help you."

"Okay... Okay. Wow. Thank you."

"Yeah. Of course."

He smiles to himself, hands resting lightly on her shins. After a few moments, his smile becomes a smirk, and he attempts to lighten the tone of the conversation. "How about Chewbacca?"

"And if it's a girl?"

"Chewbacca."

"Sounds good."

His grin fades slowly, his expression once again becoming thoughtful. "Hey, what do you think... Of Noah? You know, after my dad."

Donna watches his profile, carefully turned away from her so as to appear as though her answer is of little importance to him. "I like that."

"Yeah?"

"I really do."

He chances a glance her way, and she gives him a reassuring smile. "And if it's a girl... Maybe we could call her Joanie."

"After your sister?"

"I mean, her name was Joann. But, yeah."

"I like that too." Donna shifts to sit beside him, taking one of his hands. "I think those are great names."

"I mean, just ideas, but..."

"We can talk more about it later." She gives his hand a squeeze. "At any rate... Are you excited?"

He turns to look at her. "Of course."

"This is so much different than last time."

"In a good way?"

"Yeah... I think so."

"Yeah. I agree."

"It's good to, you know, have you. Roy wasn't involved much, thankfully, really-"

"You had me last time too, you know."

She gives him a sideways glance. "I know."

He smiles. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I like this way better, but-"

"Yeah. I get it."

"Right."

"I love you, you know."

"I do know."

"Good."

"I love you too."


End file.
